THE DAGGER flew straight and true. It embedded itself in Leck’s open mouth and nailed him to the back of his chair. He sat there, arms and legs sagging, his single eye wide and lifeless. Blood spilling around the hilt of the blade and down the front of his robes. And now women were screaming, and men were shouting in outrage, running toward her with swords drawn, and Katsa knew instantly she must be careful in this fight. She must not hurt Po’s brothers and his father. And suddenly they stopped, because with one long look at Leck, Bitterblue staggered to her feet.

She placed herself before Katsa, pulled her own knife from its sheath, and held it shakily against them.

“You will not hurt her,” Bitterblue said. “She did right.”

“Child,” King Ror said. “Move aside, for we don’t wish to hurt you. You aren’t well. Princess Bitterblue, you’re protecting the murderer of your own father.”

“I’m perfectly well now that he’s dead,” Bitterblue said, her voice growing stronger and her hand steadying. “And I’m not a princess. I’m the Queen of Monsea. Katsa’s punishment is my responsibility, and I say she did right, and you will not hurt her.”

She did seem well—competent with the knife in her hand, composed, and very determined. Po’s brothers and his father stood in a semicircle, swords raised. Rings on their fingers and hoops in their ears. Like seven variations on Po, Katsa thought vaguely—but with no lights in their eyes. She rubbed her own eyes. She was tired, she couldn’t quite think. Several women in the background were crying.

“She murdered your father,” King Ror said again now, but weakly. He raised his hand to his forehead. He peered at Bitterblue, puzzled.

“My father was evil,” Bitterblue said. “My father had the Grace of deceiving people with his words. He’s been deceiving you—about my mother’s death, my illness, his intentions toward me. Katsa has been protecting me from him. Today she saved me altogether.”

All their hands were to their heads. All their eyebrows were drawn, all their faces masks of bewilderment.

“Did he say—did Leck say that he owned this castle? Did he—” Ror’s voice trailed away. His eyes stared into the rings on his hands.

Po’s mother drew a shaky breath. She turned to her husband. “It seems possible to me that what Lady Katsa has done wasn’t entirely unwarranted,” she said. “He was clearly about to make some absurd accusation regarding our Po. I, for one, am willing to consider the possibility that he’s been lying all along.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “We should sit down and try to sort this out.”

Her husband and her sons scratched their heads, nodded their heads vaguely. “Let’s all sit,” Ror said, waving his arms to the chairs. He glanced at Leck’s body and started, as if he’d forgotten it sat there, slumped and bleeding. “Bring the chairs here, to the middle of the room, away from that—spectacle. Sons, help the ladies. There, there, they are crying. Princess—Queen—Bitterblue, will you repeat again the things you’ve just said? I confess my head is muddled. Sons, keep your swords drawn—there’s no point in being careless.”